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Prostrate, all my guilt discerning,
Heart as though to ashes turning;
Save, oh, save me from the burning!

Day of weeping, when from ashes
Man shall rise 'mid lightning flashes,
Guilty, trembling with contrition,
Save him, Father, from perdition!

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

"And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day."

Y Nebo's lonely mountain,

BY

On this side Jordan's wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave.
And no man dug that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er;

For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral

That ever passed on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth.
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes when night is done,

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek

Grows into the great sun

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Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves-

So, without sound of music

Or voice of them that wept,

Silently down from the mountain crown
The great procession swept.

Perchance the bald old eagle,
On gray Beth-peor's height,
Out of his rocky eyry

Looked on the wondrous sight.
Perchance the lion stalking,

Still shuns the hallowed spot,

For beast and bird have seen and heard

That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,

With arms reversed and muffled drum,

Follow the funeral car.

They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,

And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute-gun.

Amid the noblest of the land

Men lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place

With costly marble dressed,

In the great minster transept,

Where lights like glories fall,

And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings, Along the emblazoned wall.

This was the bravest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet

That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced, with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honor?
The hillside for his pall;
To lie in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall;

And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave;

And God's own hand, in that lonely land,
To lay him in the grave;

In that deep grave, without a name,

Whence his uncoffined clay

Shall break again most wondrous thought!

Before the judgment day,

And stand with glory wrapped around

On the hills he never trod,

And speak of the strife that won our life
With the Incarnate Son of God.

O lonely tomb in Moab's land,
O dark Beth-peor's hill,
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath his mysteries of grace-
Ways that we cannot tell;

He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
Of him he loved so well.

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Bringing fragrance to the forest,
In the pleasant hours of e'en;
To the fields a robe of beauty,
To the leaves a brighter green.

Softly murmur, gentle voices,
Soothing care and healing woe,
Bringing to the chasten'd spirit
Hopes forgotten long ago.
Bringing comfort to the dying;
To the weary, giving rest;
Like the whispering of angels
In the mansions of the blest.

THE LAND OF THE BLEST.

DAUGHTER.

EAR father, I ask for my mother in vain;

DE

Has she sought some far country, her health to regain?

Has she left our cold country of frost and of snow,

For some warm, sunny land, where the soft breezes blow?

FATHER.

Yes, yes, gentle daughter, thy loved mother has gone
To a climate where sorrow and pain are unknown;
Her spirit is strengthened, her frame is at rest
There is health, there is peace in the land of the blest.

DAUGHTER.

Is that land, my dear father, more lovely than ours?
Are the rivers more clear, and more blooming the flowers?
Does summer shine over it all the year long?

Is it cheered by the glad sound of music and song?

FATHER.

Yes, the flowers are despoiled not by winter or night,
The well-springs of life are exhaustless and bright;
And by exquisite voices sweet hymns are addressed
To the Lord who reigns over the land of the blest!

DAUGHTER.

Yet that land to my mother will lonely appear?
She shrank from the glances of strangers while here;
From her foreign companions I know she will flee,
And sigh, dearest father, for you and for me.

FATHER,

My darling, thy mother rejoices to gaze

On the long-severed friends of her earliest days;
Her parents have there found a mansion of rest,
And they welcome their child to the land of the blest!

DAUGHTER.

How I long to partake of such meetings of bliss!
That land must be, surely, more happy than this;
On you, my kind father, the journey depends:
Let us go to my mother, her kindred and friends.

FATHER.

Not on me, love; I trust I may reach that blest clime,
But in patience I stay till the Lord's chosen time;
And must strive, while awaiting his gracious behest,
To guide thy young steps to the land of the blest.
Yet fear not the God whose direction we crave,
Is mighty to strengthen, to shield, and to save;
And His hand may yet lead thee, a glorified guest,
To the home of thy mother, the land of the blest!

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GOD.

THOU eternal One! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide; Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; Thou only God! There is no God beside! Being above all beings! Mighty One!

Whom none can comprehend, and none explore; Who fill'st existence with thyself alone; Embracing all-supporting- ruling o'erBeing whom we call God- and know no more!

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